


Ignorance Is Bliss [ON HOLD]

by catboydee



Category: The Office (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, Dwight Doesn't Care, Emotional Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jim is Suffering, M/M, Pam and Jim are Not Together, Wait He Actually Does Care a Lot, set somewhere in season 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:47:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28847784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catboydee/pseuds/catboydee
Summary: Dwight knew something was off with Jim. The constant pranking had slowly fizzled out, taking all the sarcastic little comments with it. It was pleasant at first, but concern has a way of wrestling itself to the forefront of one's mind.or, 4 times Dwight ignores Jim and the 1 time he doesn't.
Relationships: Jim Halpert/Dwight Schrute
Comments: 23
Kudos: 67





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction here, go easy on me.

Dwight was incredibly perceptive. His observational skills were one of his strongest suits. As a result, he never missed a thing. When Jim came to work at 8:27 AM (exactly thirty-three minutes before work needed him and approximately forty-five minutes earlier than he usually clocked in) Dwight elected to observe Jim closely and evade falling victim to another prank. Granted, Halpert's most recent pranks were nothing note-worthy. Simple word plays or manipulations that ended in Dwight saying or doing something stupid that would then give Jim the opportunity to look at the cameras and pull the _'he did this on his own I barely had to do anything'_ face. They weren't elaborate or smart -- verging more on the fed-up-older-brother end of pranks. 

No, Dwight was determined not to humour Jim this time. Not after the 'prank' Halpert had pulled the evening prior when both salesmen had chosen to work overtime:

"Did you know that if your hand is bigger than your face you have a higher risk of developing--"

"You must think I'm an imbecile. I know what you're going to do. I went to middle school, too, idiot." Dwight interjected, rolling his eyes and allowing the faintest hint of a smile to condescendingly rest upon his mouth. He closed his eyes, leaned back in his chair with a _creak_ and folded his arms behind his head to physically display how relaxed and unbothered he was. He heard fabric ruffling then, sounding directly in front of him. It psyched him out enough to open his eyes, where he saw the blur of Jim's hand hastily returning to its owner in his peripheral. Dwight eyeballed his desk once right and once left. Nothing _seemed_ out of the ordinary, but then again it never did with these pranks. 

"What did you do? What did you take?" Dwight narrowed his eyes at Jim, turning in his office chair to face the salesman. He raised two hands to hover over the dividing line between the pair's desks, presenting the threat of forcefully taking back his stolen goods clearly. 

"Hmm? Nothing." Jim replied, donning the innocent doe-eyed look he often shot at Dwight whenever he needed to feign sincerity. Dwight sighed like a father to spoiled children -- Jim's cue to pretend to work. 

"Give it back to me, Jim," Dwight demanded, holding out a hand as if training a dog, "this isn't funny." 

"If you can tell me what I took, I'll let you have it." There it was, the catch, delivered with a typical Halpert smirk. Dwight opened his mouth to speak before Jim held up a clenched hand, still staring at his computer screen, and shook it tantalizingly in front of Dwight. 

"This is dumb, Halpert," Jim sat on his hand, ignoring Dwight, "fine." And so for the rest of the evening, Dwight organized and reorganized his desk. Pencils here, sticky-notes there, nothing out of place. He'd found and dislodged a forgotten wrapper from the crevice of his bottom drawer, which had frustratingly prevented it from opening fully for months. He shuffled through piles of paperwork and arranged everything alphabetically. Still, he had no clue what was missing. At varying intervals, Jim would tap the desk with his free hand. Dwight had deduced that two taps signalled warmer and one tap meant not even close. The tapping didn't help at all. By the time Dwight realised it was a red herring, he had already thoroughly searched his desk a total of twenty times under this method. 

"Give. It. Back." Dwight punctuating each word through gritted teeth. He was tired and frustrated with this meaningless prank, it was time for it to end. 

"Not until you tell me what I have." Jim answered nonchalantly, lingering on his computer screen before finally facing Dwight. His expression read bored but Dwight knew this interaction was probably the most exciting thing Jim had experienced all day. 

"Whatever you have, hand it over," Dwight ordered, placing his hand out again, "now."

"Can't do that, sorry." Back to the computer screen. Something snapped in Dwight's mind and he lost every thread of patience he once had. Lunging forwards, Dwight seized ahold of Jim's wrists and demanded his stolen item back. The momentum generated by his forceful attack caused Halpert's chair to roll backwards, smashing into Michael's office door. Jim's back thumped against the back of his chair and knocked the wind out of him as Dwight drove forward. He pinned Jim's wrists to the wall and squeezed them tightly, prideful at how easily he had overpowered the younger man. Before he could utter a single syllable about his stolen item, he noticed that Halpert's hands were unclasped and there was nothing in either of them. He had been tricked. The older salesman hastily let go, angry that he had fallen for something so _stupid._ He turned towards the window of Michael's office and peered inside. Empty. Of course. Dwight devised a plan. He would call Michael and inform him on how much Jim had wasted company time and the idiot would be reprimanded accordingly, at least, that _was_ his plan until he heard the delicate whimper. It was a quiet sound, easily mistaken for a giggle due to its feminine inflexion. Dwight directed his sight towards the source of the noise, a slender Jim, doubled over in his office chair, clutching his wrists. His face was obscured from view as he hunched over. Dwight's initial observations were; the blossoming red hues of bruises developing on Halpert's wrists, the messy fringe that aided in hiding his face and the whimpers that were first mistaken for laughter. Upon closer inspection, it was glaringly apparent that Jim was crying, _actually_ crying. He sniffled and wiped at his eyes, visibly trembling. 

"Jesus, Jim, that was overwhelmingly easy, I barely even touched you!" Dwight began in earnest, more concerned about gloating than Jim's well being, "if I'd have really tried you'd be _dead_ right now." He took a step towards Jim, eager to see his face and boast furthermore. "I mean, I'm clearly the more dominant male so I took it easy on you," another step forward, "I didn't intend to make you cry like a baby, I just wanted to force you to submit to my will--" 

"Take another step towards me and I'll rip your fucking head off." Jim snarled, glassy-eyed and feral. He held his wrists close to his body and remained seated, pressing his legs together as tightly as he could. Dwight was taken aback, freezing still and simply watching. Halpert's expression was one of sizzling hatred and shame, for but a moment. As his face dropped, so did the menacing aura surrounding him. His features settled and his posture relaxed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that." 

Jim had left relatively quickly after that, leaving Dwight to finish working on his own. It was begrudging to admit but Dwight had actually been _scared_ by Jim's short-lived outburst. He had never seen his usually laidback coworker lash out to such a degree before. It was almost animalistic. Dwight chalked it up to childhood trauma that he didn't care enough about to explore and left the office a few hours later. 

No, Dwight would not let that happen again. He would ignore Jim this time and refuse to present him with the chance to bark like a rabid dog. Luckily for Dwight, Jim seemed to have the same idea. No pranks were attempted, Jim ignored Dwight for the most part and the day ended as quickly as it began. 

There was something troubling about the way Jim submitted so quickly to Dwight's manhandling, even more so about the aggression he displayed _afterwards_. Clearly, something had happened to Jim since the last time Dwight roughly grabbed him and Halpert's only reaction was to stare at him until he awkwardly let go. Could it have been physical assault? Was he mugged or targeted by a gang? If so, why hadn't he told anyone, wouldn't that make for an interesting story to kill work time? No, in Dwight's mind this couldn't be a product of physical violence -- Jim had been punched before and it hadn't awoken some feral instinct within him. This was something that had damaged Jim _mentally_ , not just physically. Whatever it was, it unsettled Dwight.

However, disregard for others was one of Dwight's biggest flaws. So, he did nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vomit warning !! Jim nasty ! also these are kinda short but I hope that's not an issue lol I'll try to write for more than half an hour before getting stroppy next time

The second time Dwight's interest in Jim piqued must've been a few days after the _Overtime Incident_ \-- as he had so lovingly titled it in his head. Jim insisted it wasn't a big deal, choosing to pretend it had never happened, to which Dwight obliged. Nothing out of the ordinary happened during the _Overtime Incident_...not at all. Something that _was_ strange, however, was the small interaction that took place a few days after this non-eventful evening. 

It must've been close to 1:10 PM, halfway through the day. Dwight was luring a mediocre store branch right into Dunder Mifflin's hands, explaining how much better this paper company was than all the local competition. He was in the midst of finalizing the sale when a very pale Jim adjacent to him hurriedly apologised into his receiver before slamming the phone into its holster and bolting to the breakroom. The scene was enough to pause Dwight for a mere moment before the confused voice of his client on the other end of the phone brought him back in and he sealed the deal. 

"Lovely working with you, thanks, Karl." _Whack!_ Dwight smashed the phone back into its home with enthusiasm, casting a passing glance over Jim's workspace -- hoping to gloat about his sale. Oh, right, Jim had left. He would boast when the younger salesman returned. Turning back to his own desk, Dwight set to work filling out data and client details and the likes, although he couldn't get past the first line of text on his desktop. He liked to pretend he was a machine who cared not for menial chitchat with coworkers, nevermind checking in on them from time to time, but he couldn't shake the feeling of curiosity that crept up his shoulders and settled in a thick pool at the forefront of his head. He would find Jim, find out just enough to satisfy his interest but not enough to actively involve himself and then finish the data from his recent sale. Perfect. 

Finding Jim was easier than Dwight had hoped. If he had been lured into a scavenger hunt around the office complex, he might've lost interest and not bothered figuring out what had happened to Jim. But it wasn't a hunt. Wasn't much of a simple search, either. Dwight knew exactly where Jim was as soon as he entered the small kitchen and coffee station dividing the workspace and the breakroom. 

This horrific gagging sound echoed from the men's bathroom, accompanied by an inconsistent sloshing into a toilet bowl. There he was; the charming James Halpert. Jim heaved violently, though nothing came up this time. He let out a groan that cracked halfway through, heaving again before he could finish the exasperated sound. A third heave produced yet more sloshing sounds. Satisfied with the answer to his curiosity, Dwight turned to leave. Jim was probably hungover or sick or nervous for a big, important call. He hadn't made it more than two steps forward before he heard another moan from Jim that raised in pitch until it was a pitiful squeak. More heaving, more vomiting. The cycle was only broken when a default ringtone sounded from inside the bathroom, echoing ominously as the cheerful tune reverberated against the tiles. Dwight fully expected Jim to let it annoyingly ring until it tired itself out but to his surprise, he heard the beginnings of a conversation -- words shared as if one of the participants hadn't just puked his guts up. 

"I'm at work I can't talk, Mark," Mark...Dwight recognised the name but couldn't place it, "what?" Schrute could clearly hear the fear in Jim's voice, unexplainably perturbed by the thick silence that followed. Of course, the silence on Jim's end would've been filled by Mark answering his question, but for Dwight, it was this viscous muteness that unsettled him greatly. "Don't let him in, please, Mark, please. Promise me you won't let him in, you have to promise me." Jim was speaking a million miles an hour, frantic and close to hysterics. "Call the cops and don't let him in, please, please. Promise me." Silence. "Thank you, call me when everything's okay I have to go, I'm sorry." So Mark had promised. "Bye." Indefinite silence, followed by more retching. 

Dwight's search for answers only led to more questions. It was time to put it to rest and keep his nose out before he was wholly consumed by someone else's drama. He attempted to leave the kitchen space and discretely return to his desk, explaining to concerned coworkers that Jim was simply ill, but just as he had gotten within reaching-distance with the door, Jim exited the bathroom. Dwight could feel the tension that followed Jim without even turning around. It was dense and clung to the air, settling at the lowest point. He didn't want to engage in conversation, he didn't want to stay in the suffocating little kitchen space for even a second longer, but as his hand set into motion to open the door and leave swiftly without a word, Jim piped up. 

"Hey, Dwight." It was meant as a greeting but came out far more strained and bitter. Dwight closed his eyes and let out a compact breath. Great. 

"Food poisoning or ailment?" No need for meaningless small talk, it was always straight to the point for the Schrutes. Before Jim could answer, Dwight turned to face him, failing to hide his shock. He was drawn first to the upturned eyes, redrimmed and bloodshot with puffy, purple bags beneath them. The skin of the face and forearms had a glossy sheen to it, tinted grey and shiny with sweat. The hair was matted and clung to the forehead as if attempting to hide Jim from view. The shoulders rounded into a slouch as if his hands were far too heavy to carry. Despite the baggy clothes, Dwight noticed how frail Jim looked. What had happened to this boy?

"I'm not sure, probably just a cold or something." Both he and Dwight knew that this wasn't the case, though he still uttered the words anyway. 

"Well, get better soon. I'll be fine but I can't say much for the rest of those imbeciles, they all have compromised immune systems, I've read their files," Dwight replied mechanically, turning for the door again and almost making it this time. _Almost_. 

"Dwight..." It started urgently at first, but when Schrute actually paused and turned around again, the necessity trailed off into dead air. 

"What." It wasn't a question. 

"Nevermind, sorry." Jim was struggling to formulate his thoughts, Dwight could tell as much from his body language. Halpert clearly wanted Dwight to implore, to ask the questions that would make it easier for him to speak. Dwight knew, but that didn't mean he should care. 

"Great, I'll be seeing you." He chimed with a patronising smile, swiftly exiting the room. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one was fun !!!!!!!! also sry for the delay my brain is mush

In the days after the _Overtime Incident_ and the _Sick Day_ , Dwight found his mind wandering to thoughts of Jim more and more frequently. He didn't get butterflies whenever he imagined Halpert's dumb face, or his mouse squeak for a laugh, or his messy hair that curled upwards at the ends, giving him childlike energy in all his movements and attitudes. He didn't feel a newfound fondness he had never recognised before or a subconscious impulse to comfort. He didn't feel warm or happy about any of those things, he just felt _uneasy_. He had dared to plunge his head into the icy depths of the sea that was Jim Halpert's private life, to get a better look at the iceberg, and was now unable to extract it from his mind. Pushing it aside was useless, Jim's sad, little face always found a way of burrowing deep into Dwight's thoughts and staying there. Still, he wasn't going to help. It was just a minor inconvenience. He would get over this little obsession and move on. Even so, he couldn't stop his self-proclaimed _genius_ mind from drawing parallels and conclusions whenever he wasn't focusing on sales: Mark. It had taken Dwight a while but eventually, it clicked.

"Mark is your roommate!" He exclaimed one afternoon after sitting silently in thought -- completely ignoring Jim, who had been throwing small paper balls at him for the past twenty minutes whilst on a sales call. Jim had looked at him with wide eyes and the most confused expression, covering the receiver of his phone with the palm of his hand and ignoring the client on the other side. 

"Has been for a couple of years now, Dwight. Do you know him or something?" Dwight didn't respond, turning back to his computer screen instead. After a moment of silence, Jim uncovered the phone and apologised, making up some excuse about a faulty connection before continuing his failing pitch. Dwight had heard Jim mention Mark only twice before. Once, offhandedly in a conversation completely unrelated, and a second time when Jim adamantly tried to convince Phyllis and Stanley that he had friends outside of the office. They hadn't believed him, stating that Mark didn't count because Jim hardly ever talked about him. Halpert tried to convince them that he actually _did_ talk about Mark all the time but stopped as soon as he realised that he was lying through his teeth.

Mark was Jim's roommate. They lived together. That explained why Halpert was begging Mark not to let _H_ _im_ into their shared apartment. Whoever _H_ _e_ was. Dwight couldn't foresee a situation in which he would find out who _H_ _e_ was without snooping, for he certainly wasn't going to ask. It was hard confirming a plan in his head, what with the loud speeches from Michael as he gave out Dundies, or the obnoxious way his coworkers _genuinely_ got offended when they didn't win the award they had hoped for. Dwight was supposed to stand in as DJ tonight, however, Michael exchanged him for Ryan at the last moment. Something about Ryan's natural charm and good looks, which somehow made him a better disc jockey than Michael's so-called number two. 

As Dwight knocked back a second mouthful of champagne (a drink that certainly didn't conform to his particular taste for homemade mead), he noted that he had mentally checked out for the past ten minutes -- unaware of his surroundings and the various dialogues happening around him. He hadn't even noticed when Kelly parked next to him babbling about boys and her master plan (which consisted of making her desired male coworkers jealous by pretending to be interested in the ugly men of the office, showing that she thought more of the Dwight's and the Creed's than the Jim's or the Ryan's). If Dwight had been paying even the slightest bit of attention, he would've plunged headfirst into a heated debate on how he was the ideal male, and how the Jim's and the Ryan's were skinny and weak and inferior. But he hadn't been listening, so Kelly prattled on until she tired herself out and left to sit with Toby -- step one of her grand plan. Dwight had stirred when he thought he heard someone shout Jim's name (really they were shouting for Pam, who had fallen out of her chair in a drunken stupor) and had passed an examining glance over the room in search of Jim. The younger salesman was nowhere in sight, although his blazer was unprofessionally hanging off the back of his chair just like it did in the office, lonely and grey. Dwight decided to go outside for some air when Ryan won the Hottest in the Office award and Kevin genuinely became distraught at the outcome, demanding a 'recount' on an award that was decided by one person. 

The chill lurking in the night air would have bit at Dwight's skin had he not grown up on a farm. It _was_ cold, but to the Schrute's and their experienced bodies, it was nothing more than a light breeze. Still, he turned the collar of his jacket upwards against the breeze, more out of habit than utility, and advanced towards the left side of the building. The main car park was directly in front of the venue, however, it wrapped round to the left side as well -- which was far less crowded. Dwight planned on leaning against his car, halfheartedly fighting the urge to go home, before inevitably deciding to stay until the ceremony concluded. Unfortunately, he would be missing this thrilling adventure as once Dwight had turned the corner, he ran into the last person he wanted to see. 

Jim Halpert was sat on the ground, leaning against the building with his knees up to his chest. One hand nervously scratched at the opposite side of his neck whilst the other offered a thumbnail for him to chew vigorously as if it had greatly offended him. The glossy green eyes stared forward, entranced on no clear spot in the distance. Dark half-moons resided under Halpert's eyes, and the skin was raised and red as if he had been crying. His cheeks glistened in the light from the streetlamps. Dwight fully intended on turning around and going back inside, but something forced him to hesitate. He didn't like that he hesitated. He wanted to turn tail and run, but instead, he said:

"What's the problem?" Not exactly a heartfelt question, but a decent try. Jim, having not noticed Dwight until then, viciously turned his head away and wiped at his face with the backs of his hands. 

"Oh, nothing, nothing. I'm-I'm good," he inhaled sharply through his nose, turning back to face Dwight with the pink hue of embarrassment kissing his cheeks, "how are you?" Dwight picked up on Jim's pathetic attempt at deflection fairly quickly but decided against ridiculing him for it. 

"Bored." He replied. His body began to move without his telling it to, slumping beside Jim on the floor with a grunt. Dwight looked just as surprised as Jim did. Neither commented on it. "Why are you out here instead of in there?" Dwight asked, a slightly accusatory tone in his diction. 

"What, in there receiving my 'Jim Halpert Award' because Michael couldn't think of a category for me to win?" Jim smirked, sarcasm dripping from his drawl. A small smile threatened to break Dwight's serious expression, though he managed to catch it before it could show. Just. 

"At least it's not the Don't Go In There After Me Award." Dwight reasoned, running a hand over his knuckles that were beginning to ache in the cold.

"Ouch. Who won that one?"

"None other than Kevin, of course." 

"Oh, of course," Jim responded, compact with irony, "I could only dream of winning that award over Kevin." Dwight hardly listened to the words Halpert said, he had learned to tune the younger salesman out when his sarcastic tone became far too irritating to reply to. His attention was instead drawn to the way Jim shivered beside him, upper arm brushing against Dwight's -- almost begging for his warmth. He couldn't help but notice the goosebumps on Halpert's neck and forearms, or the faintest blue tint around his lips. He should've felt indifferent, maybe even satisfied that not everything worked out for Jim Halpert, nature doesn't bend to his will the way everyone else seems to, after all! Instead, Dwight felt...sympathy. Or, the word that made him feel less inadequate, he felt _pity_.

It wasn't a conscious decision, he didn't really think about it at all, it only occurred to him that perhaps he shouldn't have done that after he had already committed to it and _done_ it. Noticing that Jim and his inferior genetics were shivering against the cool, night air, Dwight removed his suede jacket and draped it over Jim's shoulders. Dwight could feel the perplexed stare Jim was giving him like hot needles in his side, but discretely let out the breath he hadn't realised he had been holding when Jim curled the jacket around himself further and smiled a dopey smile. 

"Thanks, Dwight." Jim mewled, soft-spoken and genuine for once.

"No need to thank me. You clearly haven't milked the goats at 4 AM a day in your life, it's not even that cold." Dwight scoffed, rolling his eyes the way he does when _really,_ he doesn't care about what you're saying and he wants you to know. Jim needn't reply, looking down with that satisfied smile he reserved for the most pleasant moments. "Not that I care about you, because I'm really unbothered either way," Dwight began.

"I don't doubt that for a second." Jim interjected, still smiling.

"Why are you out here, _crying_ by yourself?" He threw a bit too much scorn into the word.

"I wasn't crying," the smile was gone, replaced with the angry-confused expression that, in its rarity, lets you know you misspoke, "and I don't see how it's any of your concern." 

"It's not, but I deserve the right to know why you've been acting so _weird_ lately, especially after you blew up at me. Don't think I've forgotten, _Jim_." Dwight had gotten heated, raising his voice in a way that wasn't easily walked over but that also didn't cross into hysterics. He was fully prepared to raise his voice further and enter a fight for dominance with Jim in which he would come out superior -- he was better at shouting, after all. The momentum he had riled up in his aggression completely dissipated when he noticed how withdrawn and frightened Jim seemed. As soon as Dwight had begun talking in a tone slightly more hostile than usual, Jim had backed out of the fight and submitted. Dwight knew then that something seriously bad must've happened to him. There was a long pause as Dwight thought deeply about the structure and syntax of his next sentence, but perhaps the silence was what Jim really needed. 

"I'm out here by myself because...I can't be in _there_ ," Jim's voice was quiet and hoarse, barely alive in its attempt to remain unheard, "not with him." Him. The pronoun that had embedded itself in Dwight's mind for the past few days -- itching to be unearthed. 

"Him?" Dwight prompted, eager to figure out the identity of the man who had so terrified Jim during the _Sick Day_ call.

"I just-I can't be around Roy. I didn't think he was coming today but I guess Pam's here so he is." There it was. Roy. The mystery had been solved, and Dwight found himself quickly becoming annoyed with the anticlimax of it all. Roy had probably intimidated Jim one night after work for flirting with his fiancee, as men like that do when it comes to resolving conflict, and now Jim was being a moping baby about it. 

"I get it, you're obsessed with Pam, _cool_ ," Dwight drawled, rolling his eyes, "maybe if you stopped flirting with her when Roy is literally in the same room as you, he wouldn't resort to intimidation tactics." It wasn't advice, it was taunting and sarcastic. 

"Excuse me?" Jim breathed, caught off guard by the sudden resentment. He had this stupid expression on his face, though Dwight couldn't ignore the fact that he looked so _hurt_. Like a puppy that had just been kicked. However, at this moment, he didn't care. 

"Stop being pathetic, Jim. She's engaged, get over it." He began to stand up, forgetting his jacket in his flurry to _get away from Jim._

"Dwight, I'm not- I don't-" Halpert nervously laughed in between his words, clearly confused. 

"Come back inside, or don't, I don't care, " Dwight cut him off, halting his movements to finish his sentence and add such a sense of finality that Jim couldn't reply, "just stop being so inadequate. What's Roy gonna do? Try to fight you in a crowded room full of all the people he works with?" He paused again, awaiting a response to his rhetoric that never came, "that's what I thought." As Dwight turned and stormed back inside the building to swallow the rest of his Champagne, he thought not of the tears that welled up in Jim's eyes as he berated him, or the wounded expression the younger man wore as Dwight strode away, but of how annoying it was that he had forgotten his jacket and would probably not be getting it back anytime tonight. 


End file.
